Dan claims I can be obsessive about some things (Moi? Really?). One of those things is church architecture and other ephemera from the middle ages. He actually has been a really good sport about trooping into every church we see. And he has begun to recognize the different styles – although sometimes his tour guide commentary is, well, somewhat "creative".

Paris is an old Roman city, and there were Celts here even before the Romans. St. Denis was sent from Athens in 250 as a missionary to convert the pagans. He was the first bishop of Paris, and was martyred up on the hill of Montmartre (the Mount of Martyrs), but appeared in a blaze of light carrying his severed head, walked up to the neighboring community of St. Denis and told them to build an abbey so he could be buried in that location. He is somewhat the patron saint of France, and you can see him in the sculptures and stained glass windows of many churches, always holding his head.

St. Genevieve is the Patron Saint of Paris who helped repel the hordes of Attila the Hun in 450. The Pantheon was originally going to be dedicated to her, (it contains many large format French paintings about her life, including those by our hero Puvis), but during the Revolution, her body was burnt and the ashes thrown into the Seine. The Pantheon then became a place to honor "Great Men of France," and it is cold and depressing.

Nearby, the ancient church of St. Etienne du Mont has a large stone that St. Genevieve’s body used to rest on. Looking at this stone, I began to brood about what would move a bunch of people to burn a Saint’s body and dump it into the river. Yes, life was atrocious for the poor in Paris, and I am certain the Church was corrupt, but still…I have done a little research into the Revolution at the Musee Carnavalet (which houses the history of Paris museum), and the answer, as usual, lies in economics. The country was broke during the Revolution, and the early Republican regimes were neither organized nor effective. All of the churches were nationalized and deconsecrated in hopes of using their property to stave off the national debt.

The leaders of the Revolution tied the corruption of the church to the corruption of the monarchy. France officially embraced atheism, and the people were whipped into a frenzy of desecration. There is a row of larger-than-life-size statues on the façade of Notre Dame that represent the Kings of Judah. They were thought to be French kings, and all of their heads were knocked off. (Interestingly enough, the heads were found in 1977 in a nearby basement and are now in the Musee de Cluny.) Many of the churches were used to store ammunition or grain, and others became town halls and prisons (as in the case of Mont Saint Michel). . It didn’t solve the country’s economic problems, nor did France stay an atheist society. However, many churches were not re-consecrated for over 100 years, and it is hard to regain the soul of a building.

To understand the fervor at destroying the churches, you need to understand the place that religion previously held in French life. Building a Cathedral such as Chartres was a region-wide event. Many of its fabulous stained glass windows were paid for by the various trade guilds (the weavers, the leather workers, etc.) Everyone who lived near Mont St. Michel would have hauled granite to help in its construction. Everyone would have participated in a pilgrimage at some point in their life – rich or poor. Europe is really very small, and with a year, writings by the medieval French monk Abelard were disseminated throughout the Continent. The colors of the stained glass were almost miracles in themselves to the people of 1100. The windows at Chartes and Ste. Chappelle are overwhelming in their color and artistry.

The stained glass windows along with the carved decorations, tell the Biblical stories in a manner that could be "read" by a largely illiterate population. And although the glass is fabulous, my heart lies with the stone masons. And nothing compares with the Cathedral at Reims.

The entire façade is covered with an elaborate program of sculptures. Like many Cathedrals, most of the sculptures on the outside have been destroyed by the effects of weather and pollution. Those you see are modern restorations. The front of Reims is a mix of the old and weathered, and the newly restored. Part of me would just like the building to be able to age gracefully, like a ruin. But the facade was intended to be "read," and keeping the message alive through reconstruction seems justified.

They have a museum at Reims where the old statues that have been removed "live". Even in their weathered state, they are the most moving pieces I have seen on this trip. The skill and faith of the carvers is written on the face of the stone. There is a large figure of Goliath who was placed high up above the Rose window. The mason carved each petal-like leaf of his armor – even though that detail couldn’t possibly be seen from the ground. The new figure of Goliath has not been finished yet, so on the façade, David and his small dog both gaze up intently at a figure who is no longer there.

I also loved the figure of Eve holding the legged serpent – which hasn’t yet been punished by God and forced to slither on his belly.

Another favorite is the North Portal which shows Judgement Day. Demons are often treated with humor (both here and in the stained glass at Chartres). I loved all those being called to Heaven climbing out of their tombs, while the perpetually damned are chained and led by grinning demons to a boiling cauldron.

French Gothic architecture is a "type" – known for its refined elegance. Notre Dame is considered the culmination of this type, for the refinement of its technical and decorative schemes. It is not my favorite. Maybe it is too refined, while I prefer the eccentric. (I was telling this to a gallery owner, and she was aghast and suggested the champagne at Riems may have been affecting my judgment.) It is fun to be able to see the development of this type over 400 years, from the simple, solid Norman forms, to the lacy and soaring Gothic. You can see this in the two towers at Chartres, with the older Norman tower on the right.

There is still a Norman tower in Paris at St. Germain de Pres, and my favorite, the small church of St. Julian le Pauvre. After being a warehouse for over 100 years, St. Julian is now a Greek orthodox church, and it again feels like a spiritual place.

Religious buildings need to be used to stay "alive." I wandered into a small parish church that is the shrine for St. Theresa of the Children. The handful of people in it were pilgrims, not tourists. The ofrendre left to the saint were quite moving.

St. Eustache is another somewhat eccentric church. It was built between 1532 and 1640, just at the time that France was moving from the Gothic of Notre Dame to the Renaissance. So the architectural plan is very Gothic, but the interior decorative motives are all from the Renaissance. I sat in the middle of the crossing on Palm Sunday, and just couldn’t get over these huge Gothic piers with little putti (cherub heads with wings) and Corinthian column capitals applied to them. Very odd!!

The church is over 100 feet tall, and most of the back is taken up with the Grand Orgue (the big organ). Berlioz first played his "Te Deum" on this organ, and Liszt his "Messe de Gran." The musical tradition is still quite strong there, and the organist performs a 15 minute prelude and postlude to the Grand Mass each morning, as well as giving several concerts a month. This is also the church where Richelieu, Moliere and Madame do Pompadour were baptized, and where Louis XIV (the Sun King) received his first communion.

I attended the Grand’Messe on le Dimanche des Rameaux et de la Passion (Sunday of Palms and the Passion – the Passion gets top billing here, too) Most of the churches are quite dark during the week (which is why my photos are so dark – I returned on Monday to take them), but this morning St. Eustache was blazing! With the advent of electricity, they added 6 huge Belle Époque sconces with globes in the shape of flames around the altar. There are also four crystal chandeliers, and 18 six foot tall (!) candles – nine on each side of the altar. The church was full of people clutching branches (which to me looked more like boxwood than palms.)

The organ prelude was Palestrina’s Sicut Cervus. The elderly woman sitting next to me seemed almost transported by the music. It completely set the reverent tone.

The choir was good, but I think we sound better at CCC (Christ Church Cathedral in Houston) (of course, I am not biased!) They did not process. In fact, they were not even wearing robes. The Director had on a rust colored barn jacket! There is a wide aisle that runs in a semi-circle behind the choir (the part of the church, not the group) and in this aisle there was a small "pen" for the choir (the group) looking into the south transept. I think they believe they are "invisible" in their little "choir pen", so it does not matter if they are wearing robes. I could see them from my seat in the crossing, but ¾ of the congregation could not.

The service was in French, except for the Creed that was chanted in Latin (call and response with the choir). Three priests read the Passion, although the choir performed interludes of Bach’s Passion. The aged priest dipped a branch in holy water and walked down the aisle to sprinkle the congregation. The children came to the altar and laid their branches on the floor after the Passion, which I thought was very sweet. The choir sang the Massa Brevis by Lotti, and Durufle’s Ubi Caritas (I think we sounded better – they raced through it), and everyone sang the Lord’s Prayer (Pater Noster) to another Durufle setting. Two pigeons were flying through the clerestory during the service. One flew over the altar right as the priest raised the host. OK, I know I spend too much time thinking about symbolism, but there it was!!

The organist played the remainder of the Bach Passion as the recessional. Boy, was that ever scary hearing it come from the Grand Orgue!! It was really something!!

On Good Friday, we went to venerate the Crown of Thorns which Saint Louis brought back from Constantinople 900 or so years ago. Dan wrote a story for his family, so here is the link to it. I have gotten to the age where it doesn’t even matter to me if it was the "real" crown of thorns. I love the ritual, and I love being part of a line of pilgrims that have been venerating it for 900 years. It was very moving.

Easter morning saw a heavy, constant rain. Dan and I got to Notre Dame about 30 minutes before the Grand Mass was to begin. The large plaza in front of the Cathedral was already full with hundreds of people huddled communally under umbrellas (I would have loved to have seen it from above). After 30 minutes, the mass was to begin, and we were still standing in the rain. The crowd started getting restless, and Dan did, too, and decided to go back to the apartment. I kept repeating to myself, "It is Easter morning. Surely, they are not going to leave 1,000 people standing in the rain with no explanation." Well, I should have known better – it is Paris. After another 20 minutes, they let some of the crowd in. I had worked my way up to the front on the side. Suddenly, I understood how people get crushed in crowds. I was literally carried through the gate, and was one of the last to be let in before they slammed it shut. I had missed the first 30 minutes of the service, and the church was already full – it was standing room only in the aisles. These folks must have gotten seats at an early service and just didn’t leave.

Unlike the reverent attitude at St. Eustache, Easter at Notre Dame was clearly an "event" – not unlike a World Cup soccer game. Numerous people were videotaping it. Two men in front of me were having a full voice conversation until I shushed them. Some Japanese tourists kept leafing through their guide books, pointing, whispering and making plans for the rest of the day. Another woman dug around in a plastic bag, found her film and reloaded her camera with much whirring and clicking. There were several TV monitors, and cameras throughout the church. Not a single flower in sight.

The only thing that redeemed Easter morning for me was the choir (in robes and seated in the Choir). I have no idea what they sang, because the music was not listed anywhere, but it was overwhlemingly beautiful. My friend Gary is fond of an Easter mass that was written specifically for the two organs at Notre Dame (the Grand Orgue in the back, and a second organ in the choir), which I was hoping to hear, but only the choir organ was being played. They did play the postlude on the Grand Orgue, and since most of the tourists had gotten bored and left during the Eucharist (Wow, the sermon was in French! Isn’t that weird!), I found a seat and spent a little bit of time listening to the music and reflecting on what Easter should be.